


Waiting

by pastelNothing



Series: Moments In The Rain [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Atmospheric, Cuddling, M/M, Poetry reading in the rain, There's a lot of gay in this., soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 14:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelNothing/pseuds/pastelNothing
Summary: Yellowed pages, familiar from every time Caleb has read these to himself and to Nott. Every book in this modest house had been handpicked by one of the inhabitants or guests but Caleb was the one to make sure each had a place, a meaning. Every time Jester visited Caleb made sure there were books on baking and fashion, for Fjord there were sailing and books on mythologies and lore far beyond their reach and sometimes their understanding. Yasha's books were like Caleb's and hopefully he would find something for Mollymauk to read, too. He finds one poem, familiar and warm, and tucks his thumb against the apex of the pages as he begins to read aloud.





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be. A thing. It'll be bits and pieces and not at all in chronological order whatsoever. 
> 
> I want to thank my Beta Tommy who in her words: Deer I swear to god this is fantastic, you've got me thinking I'm right there on the porch with them. 
> 
> I like doing the atmospheric things, and I hope you understand my love for descriptive writing with this. If there's a theme you want, or maybe a scene you'd like me to write upon leave a comment?

Every time it rains something wonderful happens. Every time it rains, Yasha and Mollymauk visit.

The first time, Caleb is lamenting the loss of another miniature crop of bean sprouts drenched from the constant rain, tipping their little cups and considering moving from the tiny house to perhaps some proper land, when he hears knocking. Beau moves to the door before him and Caleb watches Beauregard is swept up by the tall, pale woman while Mollymauk stands near the door, looking away and out into the rain. Caleb makes his way over, and though they don't speak for a while, he doesn't mind, leading them into the kitchen for tea. 

Frumpkin weaves around both their legs in figure-eights as beyond the rain, Caleb can hear Beau's words and the strumming of a guitar. While Yasha starts to sing, Caleb pours the mugs of tea and Frumpkin paws his way into Mollymauk's lap. 

"You don't usually give dead people tea, do you?" 

Caleb looks up to see that Mollymauk was watching him, and he gives a small smile. 

"You're not dead, are you?"

Caleb sets the mug down before Mollymauk and pads to the fridge for a few drops of cream, watching the water become soft like he wished the clouds would be. Like he wished his words could be. Looking to Mollymauk he finds that the tiefling is more than happy to sit with the bengal in their lap, head cast down to watch the way the Frumpkin squirms before settling in a ball to purr as a taloned fingers curve over his spine and back again. 

"Sugar, or milk?" Caleb asks, because he's not quite ready to move, if only to keep from startling Mollymauk or causing himself to run for some sort of cover. He hears their hum and watches as they shake their head and reach out to curl a hand around the steaming mug. It is too much to watch Mollymauk drink, so Caleb turns instead to see the rain splatter and obscure any view of the outside world from above his sink. There is most likely a yard and a child's playset out there, as there always is, but in that moment, covered by heavy rain and a fast beating heart, it almost feels daunting to consider running.

"I'm glad I came today," Mollymauk says as Caleb is setting his mug in the sink to be dealt with after dinner. Looking over they're watching him again, crimson eyes still so vibrant, but listless. Caleb knew if Mollymauk had pupils they wouldn't be looking toward him. Still, he smiles. 

"Would you like to sit on the porch?" 

They take up the swinging chair facing the little backyard, as it becomes more a swamp than a yard filled with late season crops and flowers. Winter will end soon and hopefully bring more warmth. More sun. More. 

Mollymauk tucks their legs underneath them and uses a pillow to support their elbow on the arm rest. Their hand supports their head while Caleb sits mostly proper, allowing a leg to be tucked underneath him. Frumpkin will not accompany them outside but watches from the window as a rumble of thunder washes over the creaking of the swing, as Caleb begins the sway. 

In this moment Caleb simply basks in the feeling of Mollymauk sitting beside him - not uncomfortable but close, with hip nearly touching hip and their tail curling lazily and in content. He sees Mollymauk reach for something and he smiles, small and knowing. 

"Would you like me to read some to you?" It isn't as if he couldn't recite every line by heart, but Caleb won't tell Mollymauk that. They continue looking at the cover, nodding and passing the hardbound book over.

Yellowed pages, familiar from every time Caleb has read these to himself and to Nott. Every book in this modest house had been handpicked by one of the inhabitants or guests but Caleb was the one to make sure each had a place, a meaning. Every time Jester visited Caleb made sure there were books on baking and fashion, for Fjord there were sailing and books on mythologies and lore far beyond their reach, and sometimes their understanding. Yasha's books were like Caleb's, and hopefully he would find something for Mollymauk to read, too. He finds one poem, familiar and warm, and tucks his thumb against the apex of the page as he begins to read aloud.

"What things for dream there are when spectre-like,  
Moving among tall haycocks lightly piled,  
I enter alone upon the stubble field,  
From which the laborers’ voices late have died,"

Caleb only pauses for a breath at the feeling of Mollymauk shifting, moving so that a shoulder can be pressed against his. It’s not so much cuddling as leaning, and he can be fine with that, he’s always known from Yasha that Mollymauk is an affectionate person. Their tail curls, wrapping against Mollymauk's own hip to rest as Caleb continues.

"And in the antiphony of afterglow  
And rising full moon, sit me down  
Upon the full moon’s side of the first haycock  
And lose myself amid so many alike."

"I dream upon the opposing lights of the hour,  
Preventing shadow until the moon prevail;  
I dream upon the night-hawks peopling heaven,"

Lightning flashes and it catches Caleb off guard - a quick break of air and his chest is tightening in an uncomfortable way around his sweater, against the skin. Mollymauk moves closer, warmth encapsulated by the sweater and their demonic blood. They hum, centering and grounding Caleb until he relaxes his shoulders. Thunder rolls by not too long after, heavy and deep.

"Each circling each with vague unearthly cry,  
Or plunging headlong with fierce twang afar;  
And on the bat’s mute antics, who would seem  
Dimly to have made out my secret place,"

Mollymauk's tail is sinew, shifting and fluid more than even Frumpkin's fine appendage but not quite angular and dexterous to be an additional hand, as Caleb is interrupted this time by the tail worming its way against his body. Mollymauk looks pleased even with closed eyes, wearing a smile that speaks its own tomes of smug joy. Caleb shifts his arm to allow the tail more room and it settles against his midsection of scratchy cable-knit wool, while the spade tip rests on his other side. Secure, something else to ground him as another bolt of lightning strikes, further off but heavier, with rousing thunder that nearly shakes the glass panes. Caleb lets his breathing settle before continuing. 

"Only to lose it when he pirouettes,  
And seek it endlessly with purblind haste;  
On the last swallow’s sweep; and on the rasp  
In the abyss of odor and rustle at my back."

Caleb hasn't stopped the progression of Mollymauk's body as the storm increases in its voracity and the thick rain in sheets. Letting himself pull back just enough, Caleb shifts the book of poetry from one hand to the other and opens himself, his chest to Mollymauk. They slip closer and curl against him as the porch swing sways and carries them like a rocking lullaby. Caleb takes a deep breath before he focuses and pulls a blanket from underneath Mollymauk as they move, quickly covering their shaking form and letting them tuck against him. 

"That, silenced by my advent, finds once more,  
After an interval, his instrument,"

Through the rain Caleb can no longer hear Beau playing the guitar or Yasha's singing, no longer the soft timber of two hearts joined just like his own is to the tiefling curled against him. Caleb can feel the fine frame of Mollymauk against his own and hopes that some of that thrumming heart is for him. He has always been selfish. 

"And tries once—twice—and thrice if I be there;  
And on the worn book of old-golden song"

Caleb can feel Mollymauk's hand on his, rounded nails tracing flower petals over faded, old burn scars. He's learned to not run from touch, not to fear the way some would react to his past, but Mollymauk's warmth sears and awakens not the pain but the flood of emotion. The heat of blood within. 

"I brought not here to read, it seems, but hold  
And freshen in this air of withering sweetness;"

Mollymauk's cheek presses against Caleb's shoulder and he can feel them relaxing as he continues to rock their swing in some sort of pattern. The rain is slowing down from a pour to a steady rhythm that lets Caleb keep time - one of Frumpkin's dishes has collected runoff, the dribbling making it easy to sway like all those years practicing piano to a soft metronome. 

"But on the memory of one absent most,  
For whom these lines when they shall greet her eyes."

The poem ends but they remain, Caleb shutting the book of poetry, resting it on his lap and looking out as clouds break. Rain still falls in a quiet beat, but Caleb wants to think it was meant for them. Mollymauk hasn't stirred, asleep for the first time in ages against him. Caleb smiles and continues to rock them together. He tips his head back, and lets the warmth of their bodies carry him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed my little story for you! I want to thank the widomauk discord for allowing me to be silly and write from my feelings. 
> 
> If you'd like to join the discord, follow this invite!: https://discord.gg/XFN5U2W
> 
> The poem used here is Waiting - Afield at Dusk by Robert Frost


End file.
